Reading a ad-hoc bio for Lochlan from a website and it lists his current occupation as Tenor. I smiled and everyone else went WTF. Do the latin and you'll see. It means 'someone who holds'. He's crafty like that.
The rest of it reads like something from a bucket list filled with fireworks and circus acts (because it is). For someone so serious, it's an acute, abrupt study in contrasts. It's hard to believe but he is the same person who is directly to blame for my personality for he shaped it during my most formative, important years. Now do you see?
When he opened the cupboard looking for a stapler this morning he found seven different kinds of glitter but no stapler. He went to the desk and found sparklers, glowsticks and suckers but no stapler. I watched with amusement as he did a couple circuit of the main level before coming back and waiting for me to acknowledge him. He likes things orderly. Everything in it's place now. We've traded OCD for instruction in our old ages here, he is now difficult and rigid, I remind him to loosen up and have some fun.
I look up.
I give, Bridgie. Where's the stapler. He is defeated and doesn't even ask the question, he just says it flat.
I take the sucker out of my mouth and think about it. The sucker is breakfast, because I'm an adult and can choose to give myself a sugar high before noontime and I can choose to ignore the irritation in his voice because life is so hard for our tenor right now. It must take more effort to hold a heart surrounded by ninety-five pounds of total foolishness and utter bullshit than I realized.
The black one? The big office one?
Yes.
It's in your hand. I wink at him and return the sucker to my mouth and he swears a blue streak and mutters to himself the whole way back down the hall.
